


kiss me (i don't care if it hurts)

by wuliao



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Birth Control, Blood, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy, No Spoilers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, just a little bit, or like... magical faerie contraception lol, surprisingly soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuliao/pseuds/wuliao
Summary: Filling in some details for a Certain Scene in Queen of Nothing*“I’m curious,” I say, tightening my grip in his hair. “What would you have me do instead?”Sliding his hands up against my jaw, Cardan presses his forehead to mine. When I blink, his eyes are open and insistent, pools of shadow, casting hollows of his face into a gaunt beauty. “Lie to me,” he says, his breath mingling with mine, and I startle at the request.Cardan kisses me and makes a noise like it pains him. “Lie to me, Jude,” he says, stroking my cheeks, the bridge of my nose, the sweep of my temples. “Please.”
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 11
Kudos: 276





	kiss me (i don't care if it hurts)

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... something of an extension of a certain scene from Queen of Nothing. I promise there are no spoilers though!

“I imagined you telling me to do with you whatever I liked.” 

I can’t help it. I laugh in his face. “Did you imagine me begging, Cardan?” 

The pinched look on Cardan’s face sullies it, breaks the beautiful visage into something baser, flushed with something that could resemble want, if I were to be generous. As it were, I might call it shame instead, and that pleases me the better. 

“My fantasies were rife with ambition,” he admits, lightly, in the guise of a joke. But he does admit it. 

It feels simple. I am already on my knees. I ghost my fingertips over his stomach and with us this close, I feel the bristles of his tail brush past my arm when it twitches. I tip my head up, and Cardan looks desperate when he meets my eyes. I trace a line to the divot of his back, tease the hem of his shirt, and catch the soft downy fur of his tail in my hands. After I have him stilled and stuttering in my grasp, I tell him, “_Please, _oh, please. You have me. You may do with me whatever you like.” 

Cardan manages to spit out a choked laugh down at me, and that—more than any of the jewels and gleaming bright things hanging off his person, the terrible, terrified, spiteful sound that escapes his throat in that moment—is what makes me certain of all this. “And you?” he returns. “Did you imagine me begging, Jude?” 

In lieu of an answer, I run my hand to the end of his tail—and _tug_. 

The soft whine that I pull out of Cardan’s throat is more intoxicating than any faerie nectar, the tremble of him solid against me, sweat and skin and naked want that feels real like nothing else is here. 

I’m still angry at him. I think I will always be angry at him. Cardan tips his head back, bares the line of his throat for me, and I want to colour it red with my lips, my dagger, my hands. I am angry at him, and I want him. 

And for the first time, I’m certain of it: he wants me too. 

I tangle my free hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, swipe my thumb over his hot skin to tilt his face back down. 

“Begging doesn’t suit you,” Cardan says. I catch the end of his sentence with my lips and he lets me do it, his mouth soft and pliant under mine. 

“I’m curious,” I say, tightening my grip in his hair. “What would you have me do instead?” 

Sliding his hands up against my jaw, Cardan presses his forehead to mine. When I blink, his eyes are open and insistent, pools of shadow, casting hollows of his face into a gaunt beauty. “Lie to me,” he says, his breath mingling with mine, and I startle at the request. 

Cardan kisses me and makes a noise like it pains him. “Lie to me, Jude,” he says, stroking my cheeks, the bridge of my nose, the sweep of my temples. “Please.”

“I hate you,” I says, the words dropping from my mouth automatically. 

Cardan groans, his hands stilling. 

“I’ve always hated you,” I continue, and Cardan’s touch is gentle against my words. “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say as he traces the shells of my ears so feather-light, I barely believe these are the same fingers that once ripped a faerie’s wings apart without a second thought. 

Cardan noses at my neck and presses his lips there where my pulse is hottest. “Don’t stop,” he says, and I have to bite back a shudder when he starts to suck, trailing a mess of wet kisses down to my clavicle. My blood pumps, furious and too-vulnerable, but I don’t tell him to stop. 

“You are incorrigible,” I say, fumbling at his back, pulling at the stupid little laces holding his shirt together. 

Cardan laughs, and the air tickles over my gooseprickled breasts. “That’s not a lie.” 

I shrug. “You can always prove me wrong.” 

Another laugh, and I am learning the contours of Cardan’s voice more thoroughly than I ever have tonight. I never thought he could make a sound so clear. I give up and tear the fabric of his shirt outright, and I never thought he would ever gasp so delicately around me, either. I tug the ruined fabric off his shoulders and he brings his face back up to mine. When we kiss, I learn the vibration of his voice against my skin, I learn the soft mewling noise that means satisfaction, I learn what his breath sounds like when it catches. 

His back bared, I run my hands down the divots of his spine, curved and wicked as he is. My hands settle at his hips, the soft linen of his breeches, and Cardan stills. 

The two of us are teetering dangerously close to intimacy. The last time I let Cardan take me apart—when my words to him would have been less of a lie—it was easier to pretend. 

“I could kill you,” I say. 

Cardan settles his hands over mine. “And I would let you.” 

It doesn’t matter if I was lying; he cannot. 

I think, a little deliriously, that there is no coming back from this. 

So I kiss him again. Swallow all his dangerous words, extinguish all my doubts. I start to peel back his pants and he helps me with it, and then there is nothing between us at all, only our bodies—mine mortal, his unworldly. 

“The bed,” I say, shoving forward before I register what I’m doing. 

Cardan goes without resistance, but once the small of his back hits the somewhat ridiculous covers he whines out a complaint. “Be gentle with me,” he says, a pout playing on his lips that betrays the insincerity of the words. But his grip is hard and pinching around my wrist when he pulls me down over him. 

“You say that as if you wouldn’t hate it,” I murmur, bracing a hand on his chest. 

Our legs tangle together. Cardan lies back on the absurd number of pillows, his hair an inky halo spilled about his face, lips flush and swollen. They look winedark, tinged sweet. I push myself up on my knees and smother him with another kiss. He grips the inside of my thigh with that same unyielding touch, and my gut clenches as his fingers slip up. 

Cardan finds what I like too quickly—he is as ever a quick study. 

My hips stutter involuntarily as I press myself down, chasing the slick heat slowly spreading beneath my skin. He brings a knee up and I spread my legs around it, something squirming low inside me as we move together. We’re still kissing. His lips grow insistent; despite myself, I gasp when he bites and draws blood. 

Cardan’s grin is insouciant and smug when I pull back, a strand of my hair caught on his upper lip. Copper blooms on my tongue when I touch it to the corner of my mouth, and I scowl. I scrape a hand into his scalp, tug hard on his curls. Cardan tips his chin up, his mouth falling open. His tail flickers, curls up to rest at the small of my back. I shudder at the light tip of contact, the shiver that rolls all the way down my spine. 

I stroke just the tip of it, the tuft of hair downy against my fingertips. This time, it’s my turn to grin. Cardan sinks back against the pillows, his breath hissing through his teeth, though his hand barely stills. I rock harder against him anyways, until my cheeks are flushed and my skin feels too-tight.

In the silvered light, Cardan’s bare chest has a slight sheen to it. I wonder if it is salt, sweat, his body behaving like a human one, or if it is more magic. I lean down and press a kiss to his sternum, taste nothing but the iron tang of my blood still lingering on my lips. 

Cardan’s tail twitches again. He does something with his hand and something _twists _in my gut. I clench my teeth around a cry as my legs shake, every nerve alight with white heat, more intense than the slow boil already in my veins. 

And then he does it again, and my hand—still tangled in his hair—jerks back involuntarily. Cardan yelps when I come away with a lock of midnight strands, the curls still wrapped around my knuckles. 

I can’t help it. I laugh. 

He does, too, and it’s so stupidly easy to steal a kiss from him, reach down and find his hand so I can guide him closer to what I need. I slide forward, properly straddling his waist now, and even as I chase the waves of my own pleasure, I feel the length of him pressed up against my thigh. 

“Jude,” Cardan says, my name a gasp in his mouth. “Jude, Jude, _Jude.”_

“Do you have to remind yourself of who you’re lying with?” I ask, half teasing. 

But Cardan’s eyes are glazed over. “Jude,” he mumbles, and maybe I could get him to beg yet. He certainly sounds pretty when a slightly slurred, “Please,” slides out of his mouth. 

I press the heel of my palm against him. Despite myself, I marvel at the sensation—but more than that, the way Cardan’s back arches up so easily in response. I find my own wetness, that heat between my legs, and— 

Stupidly, I think of Taryn. But not without cause. Taryn, and her hand splayed her belly, her cheeks flush with a different kind of happiness. 

I pull my hand away. 

“Cardan,” I say, cutting off his impatient groan, feeling just as urgent. “I—” But just as quick, I realize I don’t even know what I’m asking for. 

He squints up at me, lips shining and hair mussed. “Are you alright?” he asks without pretense, and something cracks open in my chest. Unguarded and unmasked, Cardan’s face is clear. I think: I could be undone by this, by his own undoing. 

“I am your wife,” I whisper, and find myself unashamed to say it. “But I’m not keen on bearing you any heirs tonight.” 

Strangely, it’s this that makes Cardan blanch in embarrassment. The blush stains his neck first, then the bloom of his lips, before spreading over his imperious cheekbones like a rougey powder. “Well,” he says, “I could try—hold still.”

I raise an eyebrow as he pulls himself up and settles fingertips on my shoulders. His movements are awkward, like he’s never done this before. “Please don’t tell me there are any little Cardan’s on the way I have to worry about,” I say, and Cardan flushes harder. 

“My reputation precedes me,” he mutters. 

It takes a few seconds for me to process the words. As I do, he’s already ghosting his hands over my body, my shoulders, breasts, the planes of my belly, saying something as he goes—“Let our revels end not / by babe nor rain nor mercy sought,” and it’s a stupid rhyme for a stupid spell but something dark unearths itself within me when I hear the word _mercy _like a profering from Cardan’s mouth. 

“Are you saying you’ve never done this before?” I ask after the gauzy veil of magic settles over my skin. 

Cardan averts his eyes. “Well—”

“Good,” I interrupt, and guide him to the wet heat between my legs. “I’ll try to be gentle, then,” I say, and start to ease down. 

Both of us gasp. Cardan digs his nails into the small of my back, hard like he’s trying to draw more blood, like he wants it to make a mark. I want it too. I grasp his face, his chin, his jaw, make him look at me as I pull myself flush against him. Here is one way we are the same: I am as quick a study, clever and strong. I shift my hips, move cautiously against him, and though Cardan shivers and his mouth falls open in a soft pant, he does not look away from me. 

I have worked hard to find all of High King Cardan Greenbriar’s weaknesses. Once, I would’ve broken apart his armour piece by piece just so I could dig my fingers into the soft underbelly of him. I suppose I do the same now. 

Cardan’s lips move soundlessly, forming words I’m not sure I want to hear. We have already said so many things to each other. Whatever he does not want to give breath to feels too dangerous, even now. I kiss him to wipe them away, moving against the buck of his hips. I tuck away every harsh pant, the click of our teeth against each other. The taste of him on my lips, like true wine, a sweet burn down my throat. Cardan runs his hands up my back, grasping at my shoulder blades. “Wait,” he pants between kisses, “Jude, I’m—” 

I slide off him just in time for him to groan and shudder, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he finally falls apart. 

“Jude,” he says, in the wake of it. “My sweet nemesis. What would I do without you?” 

I wrap my arms around his neck, kiss at the inside of his jaw. Not a mortal, but with flesh and blood and a beating heart like the rest of us that I press my ear to. In the whisper-soft quiet, Cardan finds his way to where the heat still pools inside me. I hike a leg over his middle and guide him to where he needs to be. And then I let him take me apart, too. 

My face still pressed to his chest, listening to the thundering rhythm of his heart, my hand tangled in his hair, I let the roar of pleasure wash over me, break like moonlight into shadows, a burst of light where there should be none. 

Afterwards, I am as bone-tired as I am when I spar. Cardan’s hand has found the tip of my ear again, and I want to kiss him for it. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him and I am unselfconscious about it, so I do. 

“I miss you,” he tells me. “Of all the duties I’ve hated, not having you was the worst of them.”

_Why would he fight you? For love, for duty. _

“Me too,” I say. 

If it feels like the sentiment is a substitute for something else, neither of us say a word. 


End file.
